


Hero

by makoredeyes



Category: Titanfall (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Rescue, beatings, prisoner, whomp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23448451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makoredeyes/pseuds/makoredeyes
Summary: Blisk knew that getting captured was a fatal mistake. That he would die in Militia custody. It was simply a matter of when. He'd done far too much for any sane person to let him live, that was for sure.He certainly wouldn't. It was just good business practice.  You either win, or you die.It was about time, really.Short Drabble
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	Hero

He fell hard, the concrete floor unyielding and cold under his shoulder, his wrists, bound in handcuffs behind his back, unable to catch him. Kuben Blisk didn't make a sound. He didn't so much as gasp as a sharp kick to the ribs followed the punch that had felled him. He refused to cry out, to show the very real pain he was definitely feeling. He wouldn't even spit the blood in his mouth from a missing tooth, choosing to swallow it instead. 

He'd been beaten before, and, if he survived this, he'd likely be beaten again, over and over into his uncertain future, until  _ someone _ finally got him. He didn't care. There were  _ much _ worse things than split lips and broken bones, or blood spilled. There were many worse things than death. He'd survived those, too. This was just another day in the office, where 'surrender' was a bad word and mercy was nothing more than a song lyric. 

He'd never once held a white flag, and he never would. 

Bleeding, broken, and tied, he waited patiently for the three Militia soldiers to finish beating him, confident that they'd likely lose interest before they killed him, especially when they realized they wouldn't garner any reaction. 

He was right, of course, and after a handful of minutes of getting kicked and stomped and spat on from all sides, one by one they peeled off and wandered away, secretly dissatisfied with their punishment. Oh, they still jeered and crowed, acting triumphant as they celebrated their prize, but Blisk had done this enough times to know just from the slight shuffle to their footfalls as they left that despite how it looked, he'd won. Each of those men would lose sleep tonight, hating themselves for not snapping his neck or blowing his brains out while they had the chance. 

Now all he had to do was wait. 

Wait to heal.

Wait for the chance to escape.

Wait for the inevitable execution he would surely meet sooner or later.

It was all just a matter of time, and he knew whatever he got, he deserved.

Blisk was reasonable, like that.

He knew what he was. What he'd done. 

He knew that getting captured was a fatal mistake. That he  _ would _ die in Militia custody. It was simply a matter of  _ when _ . He'd done far too much for any sane person to let him live, that was for sure. 

He certainly wouldn't. It was just good business practice. You either win, or you die. 

It was about time, really.

  
  


They really had done him good this time.

Blisk's wrists were still cuffed so he couldn't poke around to check for sure, but he was fairly positive  _ at least _ more than one rib was broken. His jaw felt misaligned. Everything ached enough he couldn't count the bruises and  _ unfortunately _ he was too bored to ignore the pain. His shoulders were absolutely screaming from the position his arms were pinned in. A few of his fingers were losing feeling. The discomfort was the least of his worries. 

No one had come. Not for more beatings, not for gloating. Not even to just whack him like they should. He'd simply been left in this prison cell to ruminate in his pain and his wrongdoings, and quite possibly just  _ rot _ . It'd been three days since he'd seen or heard anyone. He wasn't sure the base was still occupied. There had not been a single clue that any other humans existed anywhere nearby that he could discern. 

_ That _ was a torture far worse than a stout beating ever could be. He'd been softened up and trussed out for his demons to rise up from the drain in the floor and do the Militia's dirty work for them. 

Left to his own thoughts for too long Blisk would eventually tear himself apart out of self-defense.

They couldn't possibly know just how cruel of a punishment it would be.

He would definitely be getting what he deserved, he thought. He never expected to die peacefully, but he'd hoped it'd be better than being eaten alive by haunting memories and intrusive thoughts. If outright dehydration didn't get him, first. Hopefully, it would, but it hadn't, yet. 

He wondered if he'd be able to beat his head against the wall, or the floor, or whatever, hard enough to brain himself. Black out and never wake up. Bleed out into the drain. Shock his brain into instant death. 

It was an appealing prospect but he hesitated, the risk of a botched suicide still too great to act on yet. 

  
  


"You're still here."

Blisk startled something awful. He'd not heard the door open. Not noticed the other human now standing in the cell with him. 

He'd slipped further than he thought. He was almost annoyed. The sweet slide into oblivion took time and to be yanked back to painful reality after he'd finally embarked was a horrifying setback. He gasped, cringing as painful retribution arrived for the hasty movement as he turned to face the stranger.

"Easy," the man said, frowning when Blisk recoiled instinctively from him. "I'm not here to hurt you." 

"Should be," Blisk croaked, eyeing the stranger. Slim, and slightly shorter than average, he had a faintly dark complexion with wavy jet hair and a neatly trimmed goatee that framed a youthful, personable face. He was frowning just slightly at Blisk, but his countenance was more concerned than unfriendly. Blisk had no reason to recognize Jack Cooper, but his low, soft-spoken voice was vaguely familiar. 

"Probably," the man said. "But this time, I owe you one." 

"Yeah?" Blisk drawled, scooting away with a grimace as the stranger stepped closer. "An' who're you?" Genuine shock crossed the man's face. He wasn't used to people not recognizing him anymore.

"Jack," he answered, honest, but not elaborating on Jack who. Blisk hadn't thought to ask yet. He watched Jack approach, twitching as he pulled a satchel off his back. He withdrew a pistol...and a medkit. "Listen," he went on, turning his stony, serious gaze back on Blisk, looking deep into his eyes. "I'm here to help you, but I'm not stupid." He brushed the safety off the pistol and held it up but at the ready. "I don't owe you enough to hold back if you try anything. Got it?" Blisk frowned. Owed him for what?

Nevermind. He wasn't stupid, either.

"Got it," he whispered, wide-eyed. Jack nodded and holstered his sidearm. "Who  _ are _ you?" Blisk asked again. Jack shrugged. He'd fished a stim injector out of the medkit, and pressed it into Blisk's bicep, making him hiss and then sigh in relief as the fast-acting cocktail of drugs took away the worst of the pain and fatigue almost instantly. 

"I'm the guy that heard you'd been dumped here to die," Jack said evasively. "Sit up."

Blisk obeyed, fighting not to flinch as Jack reached behind him, the handcuffs falling away a moment later. Blisk let out a soft groan, dragging his hands into his lap and rubbing his wrists and shoulders sorely. His eyes were watering just faintly, and Jack looked away as he stood. "Here," he took the satchel and dumped it into Blisk's lap. "This place is deserted. The door's open, and there's an abandoned shuttle in the hangar. I wouldn't stick around if I were you." Blisk blinked owlishly in shock up at the man, then, baffled, opened the bag in his lap, examining its contents. Water. Rations, another medkit, and even a credstick with enough  _ IMC _ funds to get himself to safety. Jack took the moment of distraction to slip away as quietly as he'd arrived. Blisk had just pulled out the water canteen to discover, nestled at the bottom of the satchel, one of his old calling cards. His jaw dropped, and he looked up sharply, but Jack had already gone. 

He hadn't used those cards since Typhon. He'd given away one, and one only that day, and he'd gone home and burned the rest. He didn't hand them out lightly, either. It had to have been a least a year  _ before _ then that he'd handed out the second to last one. And he  _ knew _ who had that one. 

It hurt like hell, but Blisk was on his feet as fast as he could manage, staggering to the open cell door and then out into the echoing, empty hallway. 

Blisk looked both ways, getting his bearings, and then, clutching the satchel in one hand and the card in his other, he broke into a run. 

" _ Hero _ ?!" He called, bursting into the hangar some minutes later, wheezing and stooped in pain, looking all around frantically.

Empty.

In a far corner sat the little shuttle he'd been told to expect, but there was no sign of the enemy Pilot, let alone how he arrived, or how he left. Beyond the hangar doors lay a stretch of tarmac, and then nothing but dense jungle. Blisk sat heavily in the middle of the abandoned hangar floor in defeat, his head swimming. It was several long minutes before he stood, hobbling over to the shuttle, and even longer before he got it airborne and in orbit. It was only after he'd safely made the first jump that he remembered the returned calling card, now crinkled and dog-eared from being stuffed into one too many pockets in a hurry. He pulled it out of his own, smoothing out some of the wrinkles with his thumb, and finally turned it over to notice the inscription crossing the back side. The words made his hands shake as he read them over and over in disbelief. 

_ You're the Hero of Harmony, not me.  _

_ Nobody believes me, but I know what I saw.  _

_ Now we're even.  _

_ take care. -jc _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is a drabble I wrote actually like... a month ago? And couldn't decide what to do with it. I'd considered starting another short-story compilation but that led me down a different rabbit hole I'm not even going to get into. 
> 
> Being in California, where the entire state is more or less in lockdown due to the COVID19 epidemic, I'm currently stuck (safe) at home. Husband is still teleworking but I'm Furloughed/temporarily out of work. We are very lucky to so far to be nothing more than inconvenienced. I'm getting a temporary taste of what retirement might be like someday and am actually enjoying it a fair bit, but the whole situation brings enough peripheral stress that I haven't been able to write much of anything. ~SIGH~  
> Anyway, I got frustrated enough that I hadn't posted any writing lately that I decided to quit faffing around with this and just post it.  
> Please R&R. I'm very lonely. lol


End file.
